Born Before His Time: The Story That Began in Kinshasa

May 30, 1989

Let us return to that morning: May 30, 1989, in Kinshasa, at five o'clock. The city was beginning another day. But somewhere in that city, my mother, Marie Mitongo, was giving birth to a child who had decided not to wait another two months.My father, Laurent Kapiamba, was a pharmacist. My mother was a laboratory technician. They were people who worked in fields connected to science, health, and the human body.

Perhaps they understood better than most people what it meant for life to be fragile. Perhaps they understood that behind every diagnosis is a person. Behind every laboratory result is a human story. Behind every medicine is a hope that something can be made better. And into this family came a child who was not fully ready by the calendar but apparently ready enough by destiny.

Me. My older brother, Blaid, was already there. He had the distinction of being the firstborn. I was number two. The second child—the one who arrived two months early. The one who entered a family that, I suspected, was not finished growing. I remember—or perhaps I should say I have imagined from the stories and memories passed down to me—the atmosphere of those early years.

But there is one thing I know from the way I have always understood my parents. They loved each other. And children can sense love. I remember the way my parents looked at each other. There was something in their eyes that seemed to say there was more life ahead. More children. More laughter. More responsibility. More noise in the house. More shoes at the door. More voices around the dinner table. More life. And somehow, even as a child, I thought:

That is okay with me. I already had an older brother. I was not alone. And if more were coming, then let them come. The family would make room.

The Child Who Came Early

There is something about being born prematurely that I cannot ignore. I came early. Not because the world was ready. Not because everything was perfectly arranged. Not because every condition was ideal. I came because life had begun. That distinction matters. We often spend our lives waiting for the perfect moment. We tell ourselves: When I have more money, I'll start. When I finish school, I'll start. When I get married, I'll start. When I get the right job, I'll start. When people believe in me, I'll start. When I feel confident, I'll start. When everything is in place, I'll start. But life does not always work that way. Sometimes you begin before you are ready. Sometimes you are pushed into circumstances you did not choose. Sometimes the door opens before you have finished preparing yourself to walk through it.

I was born two months early. That does not mean I understood destiny. It does not mean I was somehow guaranteed success. It simply means that from the beginning, my story contained an unexpected beginning. And perhaps that is the point.

An unexpected beginning does not require an unsuccessful ending.

The Year the World Changed

There is another reason I call 1989 The Year of Turnover. Because while I was turning from a fetus into a child, the world was turning from one era into another. In March 1989, at CERN in Switzerland, British scientist Tim Berners-Lee wrote the first proposal for what would become the World Wide Web. His idea was to create an information-sharing system that could connect information across different computers. At the time, nobody could have known how profoundly that idea would change communication, education, business, entertainment, and human connection. (CERN)

Think about the symbolism. A baby was being born in Kinshasa. A new way of connecting the world was being imagined in Switzerland. The political walls of Europe were beginning to crack. Africa was searching for new paths toward peace and freedom. China was experiencing a confrontation over political change. And the old Cold War order was beginning to lose its grip. Something was happening everywhere. Doors were opening.

Doors were closing. Walls were falling. New technologies were emerging. Old systems were being challenged. The world was turning over. And I was born right in the middle of it.

A Year of Storms and Surprises

1989 was not only about politics. The earth itself seemed to remind humanity that we are never completely in control. On March 24, the tanker Exxon Valdez struck Bligh Reef in Alaska's Prince William Sound and spilled more than 11 million gallons of crude oil, creating one of the most consequential environmental disasters in U.S. history. (US EPA) On October 17, a magnitude 6.9 earthquake struck California's San Francisco Bay and Monterey Bay regions. The earthquake killed 63 people, injured thousands, and caused billions of dollars in property damage. (USGS) Nature reminded the world that certainty is an illusion.

Politics reminded the world that power can change. Technology reminded the world that imagination can create something nobody has seen before. And history reminded the world that no human system lasts forever. That is why 1989 feels so meaningful to me. It was a year that challenged the idea of permanence.

Where You Begin Is Not Where You Must End

I was born in Kinshasa. I was born in Zaire. I was born during the rule of Mobutu. I was born prematurely. I was born into a family that already had one child. I was born to a pharmacist and a laboratory technician. Those are facts about my beginning. But they are not a prophecy about my ending. This is one of the most important lessons I want to share throughout this book.

Never confuse your starting point with your destination.

Where you are born matters. Your family matters. Your history matters. Your country matters. Your opportunities matter. Your circumstances matter. But they do not have the final word.There are people who were born in places the world overlooked and went on to influence the world.There are people who started with very little and built something extraordinary. There are people who were told they were not ready, not capable, not educated enough, not connected enough, not talented enough, or not fortunate enough.

And yet they continued. They opened the door. Sometimes the door was only slightly open. Sometimes they had to push it. Sometimes they had to build the door themselves. But they walked through. That is what this blog series i have been sharing about the book of my up bringing is about. It is about the possibility that exists inside every person. It is about the part of you that circumstances cannot completely destroy. It is about the voice inside you that says, There must be more.

It is about discovering the person you can become when you stop allowing your beginning to dictate your ending. As this chapter comes to a close, the story is only beginning. In the next blog, I’ll share how my early years, family, and unexpected beginnings helped shape the person I was becoming. I invite you to continue the journey with me.